Pipeweed
by illyria-pffyffin
Summary: Years after he came to Rivendell, Bilbo caught the first whiff of pipeweed when his cousins and Sam arrived. Memories crowded in his mind as he waited for Frodo to wake up.
1. chapter 1

PIPEWEED 

**a/n: Thanks to Shirebound for the bunny.**

The smell of pipeweed.

Bilbo stopped on his tracks and blinked.  The onslaught of recollections caught him by surprise and he reeled under the blur of cherished sights and sounds and scents that he had not realized he still vividly remembered.  He leaned, shaking, against the wall, breathless and blinded by tears.    

How long had it been?  Thirteen, fifteen years since the last time he'dsmoked, inhaling that familiar pungent sweetness, watching the blue-grey fingers of smoke dance slowly upward, becoming more and more tenuous until at last the wind swallowed them?  How long had it been?  Memories swirled in his mind like snowflakes in winter.

_Winter.  It was winter in Bilbo's second year in Rivendell when Gandalf came for a visit.  Bilbo sat side by side with Gandalf in front of the warm fire in his room, while outside feather-soft snow fell to the music of stillness.  Gandalf had been telling him about Frodo when Bilbo suddenly rose from his chair, walked up to the fire and tipped into the flames the contents of the bowl of his beautiful, silver-bound, Elven-crafted pipe.  _

_"Frodo knows how much you take pleasure in smoking, Bilbo," said Gandalf quietly as Bilbo returned to his seat and sat down pensively, putting the pipe down on the table beside him.  "He will be glad to know that here in Rivendell, you still enjoy your pipe."_

_"Not when it only whets the sharpness of fond memories, Gandalf," said Bilbo._

_"Do you regret leaving the Shire then, Bilbo?  Do you regret coming here?"_

_"My only regret is not having Frodo here," replied Bilbo with a sigh.  He looked at Gandalf.  "I know my decision was right.  Frodo will be much happier in Hobbiton.  He belongs there, not beside his aging cousin, among people he knows little.  But it doesn't seem to make the longing any easier."_

_"He misses you too, Bilbo," said Gandalf softly. _

_Bilbo said nothing, but the tears in his eyes reflected the bright orange and yellow of the merry fire before him._

The late afternoon Sun, tinted a soft reddish hue from the autumn garb of the trees that lined the hillsides around Rivendell, slanted through the windows and into the passageway where he stood.  The smell of scented candles and hickory wood smoke perfumed the air around him, the sound of water falling down age-worn stone faces whispered in his ears, but when he closed his eyes all he saw, all he heard, all he smelled was Bag End, Hobbiton.  The Shire.  

_It took Bilbo a few moments to recognize that the noise that had jarred him from sleep was the sound of someone retching.  After a few more seconds he realized that it was the sound of _Frodo_ vomiting.  Soon Bilbo was flying out of his bed, running toward the lad's bedroom, which was only a few doors up the hallway.  He pushed the door open and rushed inside._

_He found Frodo sitting on the floor, his back against his bed, his head hanging between his up thrust knees, over the chamber pot that he held desperately in shaking hands._

_"Frodo, what happened, lad?" asked Bilbo as he ran anxiously toward his younger cousin.   "Why didn't you wake me?"_

_The boy, who would soon turn twenty-one, raised a pale, tear-streaked face, his chin glistening with saliva.  "I'm dying, Bilbo," he rasped sorrowfully before bending his face over the chamber pot again, his shoulders heaving convulsively._

_Bilbo placed one hand on Frodo's damp brow, the other on his back.  The lad was a bit cold, but perhaps it was from the perspiration that thinly coated his skin.  He was not feverish, Bilbo found to his relief.  He could not imagine what the cousins at Brandy Hall would say about his hospitality, let alone his guardianship, if Frodo should be taken ill while staying over for the Mid-year festivities in Hobbiton.  He was in blooming health when he arrived two days before._

_'What could be wrong with him?' Bilbo wondered.  He had been fine at the feast, laughing and talking and eating the way only a tween could. Bilbo went over the list of food that the boy had eaten, and found nothing suspicious, other than Frodo's seemingly insatiable appetites; the lad was rarely seen not munching or nibbling at something.  But it was not unusual for a growing lad to eat so prodigiously, was it? Lotho ate nearly twice as much as Frodo at the feast, and walked away with no apparent ill effect save for his waistcoat, which was bereft of two buttons in the battle to get the two sides neatly overlapped and buttoned-up.  Frodo had nearly choked when he chortled at the sight behind his cup of tea.  Surely that was not a symptom of illness?_

_Frodo's mournful groan drew Bilbo's attention to the matter at hand.  "I'm sorry, Frodo," he said, cursing himself inwardly for letting his mind wander when Frodo was so clearly distressed.  "Tell me where it hurts.  Does your stomach…"_

_"I don't… understand," sighed Frodo, looking blearily at his elder cousin, a trickle of saliva running from the corner of his lips to his chin.  "Why do you like to smoke, Bilbo?  Smoking is horrible…  Horrible…"_

_He moaned and retched again while Bilbo stared at him with dawning comprehension.  He sniffed and thought he detected the scent of pipeweed mingled with the reek of vomit.  Bilbo shook his head in pity and amusement, his eyes glinting when he finally spotted a pipe lying on the side table._

_"Have you been smoking, Frodo?" Bilbo said, more a statement than a question.  He was finding it difficult not to laugh out loud now that he knew Frodo was not really suffering from a nasty illness.  But the miserable look on Frodo's face as he nodded caused Bilbo to subdue his mirth.  "Is this your first time?"_

_Frodo succumbed to another bout of retching but he managed to nod.  "Am I going to die?" he asked piteously when the attack was over.  "My head hurts terribly and I've been sick forever."_

_Bilbo smiled and patted Frodo on the back.  "No, lad.  I believe you will survive this," he said as he rose and left for the kitchen._

_Much later, when Frodo's stomach was more or less settled by the tea Bilbo brewed for him, and after he changed into a fresh nightshirt before climbing back into bed, he looked at Bilbo with guilty eyes.  "I borrowed your old pipe," he mumbled.  _

_"The one I put on the mantelpiece in the study?" said Bilbo.  "My father's pipe?"  _

_Frodo nodded glumly  "I'm sorry Bilbo."   _

_"How did you come by the leaf?" asked Bilbo, still slightly amused at the grieved repentance on Frodo's face.  _

_"I swiped it off Lotho," said Frodo in an even smaller voice, avoiding Bilbo's eyes.  _

_Bilbo stared at his cousin, the suppressed smile gone from his eyes and he was frowning.  Frodo, stealing?  And pipe leaf of all things!  Some part of Bilbo warned him that this kind of behavior was alarming.  He well remembered that Frodo had been the terror of Buckland and the Marish for a few years after the death of his parents.  His raids and pranks had added not a few more wrinkles and grey hair to the Master of the Hall.  But then Bilbo had come and talked to the young hobbit, and it seemed that the problem had been summarily solved. _

_Bilbo still recalled saying "Is this how you remember your parents, Frodo?  Stealing and painting people's sheep red?  Do you want people to speak of your parents as Mother of the Thief and Father of the Troublemaker?"  That and the promise that Frodo could stay in Hobbiton for a week or two every year—had resulted in a dramatic change in the boy's behavior that Bilbo's reputation rose appreciably higher in the eyes of the people on both banks of the Brandywine.  It was painful to see his trust so easily broken now by the trivial lure of the pipeweed._

_"Whatever did you do that for, Frodo?" Bilbo quietly said at last.  "You know that you only need to ask if you want something.  I will gladly buy you a pipe and a good supply of leaf if you want to smoke.  Or you can help yourself to some of mine.  You don't have to steal."_

_Frodo closed his eyes and covered his face with both hands.  "I'm sorry, Bilbo," he whispered.  _

_"As should you.  I am very disappointed in you," said Bilbo._

_Frodo let out a ragged sigh.  "Are you going to tell me to leave in the morning?  Tell Saradoc that I've been misbehaving?"_

_Bilbo heaved a deep, exasperated breath.  He pulled Frodo's hands aside and gazed at the lad's eyes.  He had expected to see hardened defiance, mischievous guile, but instead he found fear, stark and raw, quickly shuttered.  The lad wrenched his hands away and shifted to the other end of the bed, still trying not to meet Bilbo's eyes.  _

_"Good night, Bilbo," he said, pulling the covers to his neck.  "I am really sorry for tonight."_

_"Frodo," Bilbo reached and clasped one his cousin's hands.  With his other hand he gently turned Frodo's face toward him, locking his eyes with Frodo's.  "I am not going to send you back.  You have Saradoc's permission to stay here for a fortnight and stay here you will, if only for me to teach you that pulling a blanket over what you have to say will not make the matters go away.  Now out with it.  Boys your age like to try new things.  But I remember you told me that you would not smoke before you could buy your own pipe and leaf; something about not wanting the Brandybucks to pay for your own bit of luxury, as I recall.  I can understand that and I respect that, and I expect you to hold to your words and so far I am proud of your resolve.   Now what is this sudden obsession with pipeweed, eh?  What is this pilfering you've suddenly resorted into?"_

_Frodo sighed and let go of Bilbo's hand.  He toyed with a loose thread on his blanket until he had summoned enough courage to finally form an answer.  When it came out, the lad seemed surprised himself.  "Lotho is very witty, isn't he?" he started bitterly.  "You had quite a long talk with him at the feast."  Frodo bit his lip nervously while Bilbo nodded his emphatic _yes, go on.

_"I listened sometimes," said Frodo, peering at Bilbo's inscrutable eyes.  "And caught bits of discussion on crop rotation, pony breeding and the drop of ale sales to Bree."  The lad winced.  "None of them held my interest and I understood little of them.  But you seemed to enjoy the conversation.  And the two of you just went through a lot of pipeleaf, talking in mumbles through your pipes, waving them around when you were arguing." Frodo sighed.  "He is only four years older than I am and he knows so much."_

_"Why should that bother you?" said Bilbo.  _

_Frodo frowned uncertainly.  Suddenly he pushed his blankets off and sat up straight against the headboard; his eyes, intense and yet full of doubt, were fixed on Bilbo's.  "I…I don't think I can tell you…" he stammered.  "You'll not like it."_

_"Let me be the judge to that, lad.  Now, what is it?" said Bilbo, trying to stay the impatience that he felt creeping into his voice.  _

_A few minutes passed before Frodo finally started to speak in a rapid torrent of breathless words, "You like me.  I don't know the reason, but you like me.  You have always been more than a cousin to me; you're my teacher, my friend."  He stopped for a moment, looking suddenly very young and frightened.  "I know it is wrong and very foolish.  But when I saw how friendly you were with Lotho, I was afraid.  Afraid that you will favor him more.  Afraid that you will think less of me because he is sharp and clever, like you, and you enjoy talking with him more than you do with me.  And he smokes, like you, while I don't."  Frodo paused, swallowing hard, his jaw set.  His voice shook when next he spoke.  "I was afraid you would leave me, forget me, and I know I'll not be able to bear that.  You are all I have."_

_Frodo hung his head.  "I'm sorry.  For the pipe.  For stealing.  For disturbing your sleep," he whispered.  "It was stupid of me."_

_Bilbo nodded, unable to speak for long moments, too overcome by a sudden flood of tenderness.  He cleared his throat awkwardly and with his finger, tilted Frodo's face up so their eyes could meet.  "Apology accepted, my boy," he said in a huskier voice than usual.  "Love makes people do the strangest, stupidest things sometimes."_

_"Frodo," he went on thoughtfully.  "Do you know why I spoke so long with Lotho?"_

_Frodo shook his head._

_"Not because he can explain in great detail the correlation between last year's drought and the recent increase in the prices of ale," said Bilbo with a grimace.  Frodo smiled.  "But because he happened to carry around a bag of the queen batch of the Southern Star leaf from the year '97, perfectly cured and finely shredded, and quite a rare find these days.  I think the S.-B.'s bought themselves a generous supply of it and hoarded it for themselves, if not sold it outside the Shire for an appalling amount of money."_

_Frodo raised his eyebrows and burst into laughter.  "Bilbo, you old rascal," he said fondly, "I do believe it is illegal to let people think you were paying attention while all the time you had your eyes and nose on the other hobbit's leaf bag.  I heard it was called bribery by the nicer hobbits and thievery by the more outspoken ones."_

_"Maybe, lad," Bilbo chuckled sheepishly.  "But at the time I only saw it as a long overdue installment in payment for my silver spoons."_

_Frodo snorted. "I'm glad I don't smoke then," he said with a smile.  "I will never have to worry whether your attention is genuine when we talk."_

_"My attention, Frodo," commented Bilbo gravely, "and my affection for you are two things that you should never doubt, pipeweed or no."_

_Frodo stared long at Bilbo's face, his own eyes glittering with wonder and happiness and love.  He tried futilely to find words to say, but it was a long time before he finally overcame his speechlessness. "I still don't understand how you can enjoy smoking, Bilbo," he began.  "The queen of Southern Star made you swallow your pride and butter up to the heir of the S.-B.'s horridness…  I'm not finished Bilbo!" he said with a laughing gesture to halt Bilbo's interruption, "But to me, it's the ultimate poison, worse even than Aunt Dora's pickled onions."_

_Bilbo laughed at his cousin's vehemence.  "Ah, you'll learn yet, my lad, you'll learn," he said simply, patting Frodo's arm.  At the very least, Frodo, he said to himself, the Star has allowed us this moment.  You rarely speak of what lies hidden in your heart._

_They talked until the candles by Frodo's bed turned into shapeless yellowish-white lumps in their brass holders and the tween began to nod sleepily.  _

_"Good night, Frodo," said Bilbo after he blew out the candles._

_"Good night," mumbled Frodo.  "Bilbo?"_

_"Yes, lad?"_

_"When you smell of pipeweed you smell like Father," came the murmured answer.  "You smell like home."_

The smell of pipeweed.  The smell of home.  

"Bilbo."

Bilbo started and opened his eyes.  A man stood before him, stooping so that his eyes were nearly Bilbo's height.  "Are you all right, old friend?"

Bilbo cleared his throat, realizing suddenly just how close he was to tears.  "I am, Aragorn.  Thank you for asking."

He took in a few deep, steadying breaths and looked up at the man's grave eyes.  "I did not know you had arrived, my friend.  You were not here last night when…"  Despite himself, Bilbo found himself choking at the thought.  

"We only arrived this morning, Bilbo," said Aragorn.  "Your cousins, Samwise and I."

"My cous…" Bilbo spluttered.  "Where are they?"

"They are in the room adjoining Frodo's.  I believe you are going there yourself," said Aragorn gently.  

"Yes, yes.  How is Frodo?" he asked with a slight quiver in his voice, resuming his walk, Aragorn falling into step beside him.  "The Elves insisted that I rest this morning.  They said they would wake me if anything went badly with Frodo.  But I think they have let me sleep too long.  It's nearly lunchtime already.  They should have wakened me hours ago." 

"There has been no change in his condition," said Aragorn thoughtfully.  "Lord Elrond is doing everything in his power to strengthen him, so he could better fight the Morgul blade's poison.  It seems to be the only thing we can do at the moment.  But Frodo is holding on and that is heartening."

They rounded the corner and the scent of pipeweed became stronger.  A sudden longing washed upon Bilbo and he began to run.  It had been a long time since the last time he ran, life in the Last Homely House was such that hurrying was never a necessity.  But now he ran as though his very life depended on it, as though at the end of the corridor lay his only hope, the only answer to his prayer.  He shuffled, nearly stumbling, his walking stick thumping an uneven rhythm that echoed the broken thoughts that raced across his mind.

===


	2. chapter 2

PIPEWEED 

****

****

Bilbo sat back into the cushion and stared at the white door across the room.  Sam sat forward on one end of the long, low couch, one hand on his pipe bowl, his teeth clenched on the stem, his whole body a taut wire that was ready to spring at any moment.  Merry took up the other end of the couch, his eyes turned unseeingly at the window, one hand wrapped around his knees, the other closed around the bowl of his pipe.  Bilbo felt Pippin's head shift on his lap as the young Took blew a shapeless mass of smoke into the air.  

It was quite clear to Bilbo that none of his younger friends were really interested in their pipes.  But even so, to say that the smell of pipeweed was overwhelming was putting it mildly.  The room reeked of pipeweed the way the store holes in the South Farthing smelled after the year's leaf harvest was hauled in.  Bilbo sighed.  The elves would have to air the room for three days in a row after this, drag the couch out and burn the cushions if they did not want to wash them far down in the cold water of the Loudwater.  Even so, Bilbo was certain that no amount of dried herbs and flowers would take away the stubborn, permeating smell of the best and most potent of Longbottom Leaf, the only pipeweed the young Thain- and Master-to-be cared to smoke.

"How much longer, Bilbo?" asked Merry suddenly, between gritted teeth, and at that question the other two grim faces turned toward the old hobbit.  "They have been there for hours."

"I can't hear him moaning anymore," said Sam in a shaking voice.  "Does that mean he's better then?"

"What's with all the singing, Bilbo?" demanded Pippin. "How can they cure Frodo by singing alone?"

"I don't know, lads," said Bilbo.  "I know little of elvish medicine and much less of the cure for as grave an injury as that from a shard of a morgul blade."

"But they will cure Frodo, won't they, cousin?" said Pippin, twisting his head around to look up at Bilbo.  "You said Lord Elrond is a healing lore master."

They must cure him, thought Bilbo grimly, or I…  What will I do?  What can I do?  I was the one who caused him this injury.

I gave the Ring to him.

_Bilbo sat at the edge of the large elven bed, holding Frodo's right hand as Elrond gently removed the bandages that were wrapped around Frodo's shoulder and chest.  Sam was standing on Elrond's side of the bed, ready to help should the elf lord ask him.  Merry and Pippin watched with large, frightened eyes from the foot of the bed.  But Bilbo, for all that he was clasping Frodo's hand in his, had eyes only for the golden Ring at the end of the long chain around Frodo's neck.  _

_'Surely touching it, just touching it, would do no harm,' thought Bilbo, staring at the Ring with hungry fascination.  'I would not put It on,' he argued further.  'I just wanted to caress it, the way I stroked Frodo's cheek when he was newly arrived here.  The Ring was mine for many years, I had put it on several times and I suffered no harm from it.  Surely touching it here—in Rivendell of all places—would create no danger.  Just a touch…  Just a brief touch…'_

_He nearly reached out his hand when suddenly Frodo gasped.  "Bilbo!"  _

_Bilbo's eyes strayed from the Ring and once again focused on Frodo's face.  Frodo's eyes were open yet unseeing.  Elrond stopped his examination on Frodo's wound and placed one hand on Frodo's brow.   _

_"Don't… leave me," whispered Frodo.  "Take me…with…you."_

_The longing in that plea tore at Bilbo's heart.  The breathless lust for the Ring was stilled and silenced, pushed aside by the memory of tenderness, by a flood of guilt.  Bilbo tightened his grip on Frodo's hand.  "I'm here, lad.  You're safe.  I'm here with you."_

'What have I done to you, my lad?' thought Bilbo as he drew on his pipe.  'When into your restless dreams Merry entered, or Pippin, or Sam, you would murmur of willow trees that creaked and snapped, of creeping hands and a naked sword, of Riders in black that swayed and sniffed, and you would cry "Leave them alone!  Don't hurt them!"  But sometimes you lay there rigid and white, and you passed your hand in front of your face, muttering about how Gandalf had warned you not to put on the Ring and begging an unseen tormentor to stop forcing you to put It on.  

'But when I was around, when through the mist and shadows you could hear me, you only asked to be with me, you only wanted me to stay.  Had I wounded you so deeply, my boy, when I left you seventeen years ago, that it was the only memory you had of me?'

The white door to the sickroom opened and Aragorn stepped out.  The hobbits sprang from the couch and anxiously gathered around the Ranger.  

"How was the surgery, Strider?" asked Merry.

"Is he all right?" gasped Sam.

"Did they manage to take it out?" demanded Pippin.

"Can we see him, Aragorn?" said Bilbo.

Aragorn looked pale; his eyes were bloodshot and his hands were shaking, but his voice was steady when he replied, "We have taken the shard out of his shoulder.  But the surgery was hard on Frodo.  Carrying the knife tip for seventeen days has greatly weakened him, and removing it has exhausted all his remaining strength."

Sam choked and swayed back.  Merry's hands steadied him before Sam collapsed on the floor.  Pippin's face crumpled into a mask of grief.  Bilbo looked down at the floor, the hand holding his pipe trembling.

"I will not tell you a lie," Aragorn went on.  "Frodo is still alive now, but we don't know how long he will be able to survive.  Lord Elrond and his assistants are tidying up.  As soon as they let you, you can come in."

"And Bilbo," added Aragorn softly.  Bilbo looked up.  "Lord Elrond asked you to come in first."

"Thank you, Aragorn," muttered Bilbo absentmindedly.  

Aragorn placed a gentle hand on the old hobbit's shoulder.  "He needs you to be strong for him, old friend," he said quietly.  

Bilbo took a deep breath and nodded, putting one hand around Pippin, who was beginning to sob on his shoulder.

"Why can't we all come in and see him, Strider?" pleaded Sam.  

"I know you all love him," said Aragorn.  "But Lord Elrond believes that Frodo will need Bilbo most now.  Frodo needs to see that life is more than flight and fear.  His memory with Bilbo will help him remember that."

"Surely they can all come in, Aragorn," said Bilbo, rubbing Pippin's back slowly.  "If they promise to be quiet and stay out of the way.  If…"  He swallowed hard, blinking back tears.  "If these are to be his last hours among us, I know Frodo would want his most cherished friends to be with him."

Sam gasped and Merry shuddered at the words.  Pippin buried his face in Bilbo's neck and the old hobbit tightened his arms around his younger cousin.  Aragorn stared long at the hobbits with pity and compassion.  Finally he nodded and said, "I will consult with Lord Elrond about this."  He disappeared into the room.

When he came out, he told the younger hobbits that they could come in with Bilbo.  Then he strode to the couch and drew out his own pipe, lighting it with hands that were scarcely steadier than when first he came out of the room.  

Bilbo joined him on the couch and quietly resumed his smoking.  The three younger hobbits were too restless to sit.  Merry stood against the wall, with Sam by his side.  Pippin knelt on the couch, looking out the window into the dark starless night.

"I did not know you started smoking again, Bilbo," muttered Aragorn around the stem of his pipe.  

"My cousins have been very persuasive," replied Bilbo.  "And generous to a fault.  I must have depleted their stores of leaf.  I seem to have made-up for all the years I did not smoke in the few days they have been here here."  He inhaled deeply and let out a billowing mass of bluish gray smoke.  "I had forgotten that it could be quite calming."

"Calming," murmured Aragorn.  "Yes.  You need to be very calm when you come to Frodo's side."

Bilbo glanced in alarm at his friend.  

"He has gone so far into the shadow world," Aragorn went on quietly.  "He almost could not hear me summoning him.  If anyone can call him to return, it will be you, someone who is dearest to his heart."

Bilbo choked and stared in horror at Aragorn.  "And if I can't?"

"Then Frodo's fate is beyond our efforts," said Aragorn, turning to Bilbo and touching his arm gently.  The Ranger's eyes glimmered with sympathy as he saw Bilbo's pipe shake within the clutch of the hobbit's gnarled fingers.

==


	3. chapter 3

**_PIPEWEED_**

'My brave lad' thought Bilbo as he gazed at the face of his cousin and heir.  'What had I done to you?'  

Vaguely he was aware of Merry holding Pippin at the foot of the bed while Sam stood weeping silently on the other side.  But in Bilbo's eyes there was only Frodo, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the cold pallor of his face.  He looked as though he were dead, thought Bilbo, horrified.  Too late.  It was all too late.  

Gandalf had given him a chair beside the bed, but Bilbo would not take it.  He climbed with difficulty onto the bed and sat at the head of the bed, clasping Frodo's hand close to him with one hand while the other ran through the heavy dark curls that lay on the soft pillow.  

'When I adopted you I had promised I would never let you come to any harm,' he thought, as he pressed the cold hand in his grip to his breast.  'Even when I left you I made sure you would be secure and well provided for.  I never meant for you to carry this burden.  I never meant any of this to come to you and hurt you.  I never knew, never thought that the Ring would cause you so much pain.  Forgive me, my dear boy.'  Bilbo closed his eyes and felt tears hot and prickling under his eyelids.  'Come back now, my lad.  

'You are safe.  We are together here.'

_"That was a marvelous dinner, Frodo," said Bilbo as he received his pipe from Frodo.  "Amazing what you can do in so short a time and after a long march.  I was too exhausted to do more than take off my cloak and stagger to my room."_

_"Well, you revived soon enough when I started frying bacon," said Frodo with a smile, standing next to Bilbo's chair and pouring wine into his crystal goblet.  "You did not even wait for me; you started eating before I finished toasting the bread."_

_Bilbo chuckled and took a long, appreciative sip of his wine.  "I'm old, Frodo," he said, sitting back contentedly.  "A hobbit likes to eat promptly and right on time when he is my age."_

_"If you hadn't insisted on taking that shortcut past Farmer Stone's fields, we would not have gotten lost and we would have been here long before suppertime," Frodo chided, sitting on the armrest of Bilbo's chair and gently massaging the stiff muscles of his cousin's shoulders.  _

_The old hobbit hummed happily and closed his eyes, drawing deeply on his pipe.  "Need I remind you, Frodo, that we would not have run out of food and nearly starved ourselves out there, if you had not finished off that last loaf of bread, along with half a jar or our last preserves at tea?"_

_"Is there a point in carrying our provisions back?  You said we would be home in time for dinner.  How was I to know that we would walk for hours in the dark instead," said Frodo rather sulkily.  "And I don't think I need to tell you who ate the most apples on the way back.  Why, the trail is likely to make a splendid orchard in a few years.  I still marvel how you still had the appetite to polish off three servings of everything."_

_Bilbo chuckled.  "Meager servings as I recall," he said, taking another deep pull on his pipe.  "You seemed to have done quite a thorough job on the meat and potatoes and …  Ah!"_

_Frodo's hands stilled on Bilbo's shoulders.  "Did I hurt you, Bilbo?"  The concern in his voice was sincere.  _

_"No, no, lad," said Bilbo, waving his pipe.  "That feels nice, that's all."  Frodo's fingers tentatively resumed their kneading motions.  "A little higher.  Yes."  _

_Bilbo sighed approvingly at Frodo's next move.  A peaceful silence ensued as Frodo continued his loving ministrations to his cousin's weary shoulders._

_"It's so nice to be home," muttered Frodo.  "I love our walks and camping out under the stars, but it always feels so good to come home."_

_"Yes, my boy," murmured Bilbo.  "That is one of the reasons traveling abroad is so rewarding.  It brings the thought of home dearer to our hearts." _

_Frodo sighed and tightened his arms around Bilbo, laying his cheek on Bilbo's head.  "I am going to bed, Bilbo," he said, giving Bilbo's curls a quick kiss.  "Good night."_

"Bilbo?"

"Yes, lad?"

The fingers within his grip curled and squeezed softly.  "I thought it was you," came the whispered reply.  

Bilbo opened his eyes in surprise and looked at Frodo.  His eyes were still shut, but his face was turned slightly toward Bilbo and he was inhaling deeply.  "You've been smoking too much," he sighed, before settling back to sleep with his face resting lightly on Bilbo's side.  

Bilbo looked around, too overcome with joy to speak.  But what happiness there might be in the faces of his young friends he could not see for the veil of tears that had suddenly shrouded his vision.


	4. epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

****

Aragorn found the old hobbit sitting alone in the Hall of Fire.  

"Bilbo," he greeted the hobbit gently.  "I have just been to Frodo's room.  Gandalf said he had wakened but is now asleep again.  I thought you might want to know that."

"Thank you, Aragorn," said Bilbo absently.  

The Ranger sat beside Bilbo and touched him on the shoulder.  "Are you well, my friend?  Have you rested?" he asked.  "You have stayed awake all night, waiting for the news of the surgery and sitting by Frodo's bed; you must be weary."

"I am fine, Aragorn," said Bilbo, still not looking at the Ranger.

"There will be a feast tonight," Aragorn went on quietly.  "Did you know that Gloin has come with a delegation of dwarves from the Lonely Mountain?  They shall be at the feast also."

"Yes, yes," said Bilbo.  "We have met."

"Bilbo," said Aragorn with concern.  "What troubles you, my friend?  Are you still worried about Frodo?"

Bilbo turned to look at Aragorn, a frown adding more creases to his wrinkled brow.  'How can I tell him?' the hobbit thought.  'How can I explain that it was not Frodo I was thinking about but…'

_If he must carry the Ring further, It will hurt him deeper, It will even kill him.  I can spare him that pain.  I can save him from that horror.  I am old; I have seen enough and done a lot.  If I should die bearing It, what of it then?  Frodo is young; he still has a lot to look forward to in his life.  He doesn't deserve this burden, this nightmare that is my legacy…_

Bilbo gasped.  The thought had begun to clamor insistently in his mind ever since the worry and fear that haunted him for the last four days were finally lifted with the certainty of Frodo's recovery.  At first he thought that it was his own guilt and love for Frodo that had spoken, but then he recognized the underlying voice that whispered in his heart.  More than seventeen years ago, in front of the cozy fire in his study at Bag End, when Gandalf had asked him to give up the Ring, that voice had sung to him, and he had vehemently refused to leave the Ring, insisting It was his by right.  

_And Frodo will have to hear that voice, that seductive and chilling voice, as long as he has to carry It.  How can I stand aside and let him suffer the consequences of my folly?  If anyone should be punished by bearing the Ring, it should be me._

Bilbo shook his head and ran one hand over his eyes.  

"Bilbo?" asked Aragorn again, more insistently this time.  

Bilbo looked at his friend and managed a weak smile.  "You are right, Aragorn.  I am tired," he said.  "I will go and lie down for a while."  He stood and began to walk away.

"Bilbo," called Aragorn, standing up and walking to Bilbo's side.  "Here.  I have a pouch of the Southern Star leaf.  Take it, so you will not have to beg your cousins for pipeweed."

Bilbo stared at the proffered bag, then at Aragorn.  "Thank you," he said with a small smile.  "But I don't think I shall ever smoke again."  It evoked too many memories, he thought with a sigh.  

He reached out and pressed Aragorn's hand.  "Look after Frodo for me," he said, before turning away and walking out of the Hall.

~fin~


End file.
